


Chocolate Cake

by Lirillith



Category: Free!
Genre: Baking, Birthday, Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 12:35:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5666251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lirillith/pseuds/Lirillith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four special occasions, four cakes, and two guys totally failing to read each other's minds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chocolate Cake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EvilMuffins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilMuffins/gifts).



Haru let himself into the apartment with a sigh and a familiar sense of affectionate exasperation. Nearly a year in Tokyo and Makoto still didn't remember to lock his door when he left. Haru had made the mistake of complaining once, so Nagisa had suggested a friendly burglary to teach him a lesson — take his Playstation, his iPod if it was there, and maybe the TV as well — but that was too much work. 

And besides, the carelessness worked in Haru's favor.

Sure, he could have baked at home and brought the results over in the evening, a surprise present, but there was a real risk he would have been too embarrassed to follow through. It had been bad enough shopping for chocolate and baking products in the first week of February. But he'd managed that much, and now he was here. 

Even if he lost his nerve and took off before Makoto got home, there'd be no question who'd let himself into the apartment to make chocolate cake on Valentine's Day. 

 

Just like Haru had made a point of finding an apartment with a bathroom he liked, Makoto had made a point of finding a place with a nice kitchen area. It was tiny, because it was an apartment in Tokyo, but there was room for the microwave, the rice cooker, and an oven, and enough counter space that Haru could prepare the frosting without washing the bowl for the batter first.

Unlike Haru's choice of an apartment with more than just a tiny unit bath, Makoto's choice had made no sense. Or so Haru had thought until July, the first day he was back home after a competition; the moment he'd checked his phone, on the train from the airport, he'd seen a message from Makoto, probably sent with an eye to his itinerary even though the flight had been delayed.

_Haru, welcome home! If you're not too tired, do you want to come by my place? I'll treat you to dinner and you can tell me about the tournament!_

Haru had sighed — he _was_ tired — but he'd run through his own schedule in his head, and Makoto's, and realized this would be their only chance for nearly a week, so he'd tapped out _sure_ on his phone, and leaned his head back, trying to tune out his teammates in hopes of a short nap.

Makoto's apartment was at least a few stops closer, from Haru's starting point, than his own place, so he was there sooner than he would have gotten home, even if he was knocking at a door rather than letting himself in. 

He'd heard Makoto calling out "just a minute!" and then the door opened, and there was Makoto, and Makoto's bright and homey and slightly cluttered apartment, and Makoto smiling at him, and saying "Happy birthday, Haru!"

"Um," he said, even as his mouth bent into a small smile in response. His birthday had been days ago. Makoto had called him to wish him a happy birthday then. 

"I know, I know," Makoto said, "but this is my first chance to actually say it to your face. Come inside!" 

Haru sat down in the entryway to take off his shoes. He smelled food. Fish, and the smell of frying, and vegetables? "You cooked?" he said. 

Makoto had retreated to the kitchen area. "I wanted to make that miso mackerel you taught me — I didn't screw up the salt and sugar this time! But I kind of overcooked it. So I put it in fried rice." 

Haru stood up, and Makoto stepped forward, holding the cake. It looked like chocolate — of course — and he'd found some kind of frosting tube so he could write "Congratulations Haru!" on the top. "For your birthday and for the win," he said. 

So this was why he'd wanted an oven. Haru had smiled, and when he looked up from the cake to Makoto's face, he saw Makoto beaming wider than ever. "I know you don't really like sweets that much, but it's your birthday! I had to make a cake!"

"And you probably practiced a lot, huh," Haru said, smiling again. Hence the choice of chocolate. He'd have to eat his trial cakes, after all. 

"A little..." Makoto admitted, with a laugh. 

"It looks good," Haru said. "And the fried rice smells good."

"Ah! Yeah, you must be hungry! Your flight got delayed, right? Let's get started." 

 

The cake recipe Mako had selected had served Haru well, and he'd be using it again this time. Cocoa powder, flour, sugar, eggs, oil, a tiny bit of espresso powder, milk and butter and vanilla. He'd had to experiment with different frostings before he found the one he'd be using this time, but the cake itself was moist, rich, but not so overpoweringly sweet that it bothered Haru. And Makoto _loved_ it. 

Haru had used it for the first time that fall, when he'd availed himself of Makoto's unlocked door for a surprise birthday cake of his own. It was worth all the trouble when he got to watch from the kitchen as the realization dawned on Makoto; he let himself in, unsuspecting, then saw Haru's shoes, and recognized the smell of baking chocolate. His face lit up and he exclaimed "Haru!" as he tried to peel off his shoe and drop his backpack at the same time. 

Haru hadn't bothered to decorate the cake; Makoto was home before it was finished, and it was a bit like having a hungry puppy waiting on a meal. Putting a full coat of frosting on the cake — it was a surprising amount of work, getting it even and not too unsightly — was all he could manage with Makoto watching eagerly from the kotatsu, making periodic comments about how happy he was, what a surprise this had been, how good the cake smelled. Haru gave up on even monosyllables in response; Makoto didn't need them.

Makoto probably didn't need a beautifully frosted cake, either, as long as it was chocolate, but the look on his face when Haru presented it, lit candles and all, was worth all the trouble. 

 

He'd made sure to have two cake pans this time, so he could bake both layers of the cake at the same time. A bowl for the frosting. No real reason _not_ to wash the bowl he'd used for the cake batter, this time; when he'd made the Christmas cake, Makoto had been around, "helping," and he'd wanted to lick the spoon and scrape the last of the batter from the bowl, just like he had when they were kids and Makoto's mom baked things. 

"It's just nostalgia," Makoto had said, when Haru had pointed it out. 

"You have batter on your nose," Haru had retorted, and Makoto had laughed and wiped at it with his hand. 

People always said that food cooked with love tasted better, but that was nonsense. What tasted best was food cooked by someone who knew what they were doing. If you forgot the baking soda, the cake wouldn't rise no matter how much love you put into cracking the eggs. 

And besides, how could you summon up love on command when you started cooking? Love was just sort of there. Sometimes it hung around in the background, even got drowned out for a little while by annoyance or boredom or weariness. Sometimes it was just present, like the sound the traffic through an open window, background noise to a neutral mood. And other times it surged up and overwhelmed you, and you had to turn away and stir the frosting vigorously before you said something stupid to your childhood friend who still had cake batter on his nose.

As single guys with a lot of single friends who didn't want to be alone on Christmas, they both had plans for that evening — a party with friends from his college for Makoto, and Haru's swim team had a gathering planned too — but they were going to meet back up at Makoto's place afterwards, for cake and presents. They'd agreed to that weeks in advance. 

Haru had tried to get out of his team's party, but that had immediately led to questions — _Why? Do you have a girlfriend we haven't heard about? —_ and there was no way he was going to explain. But his teammates knew him pretty well by now. They knew not to keep teasing him when he didn't want to talk. They knew he was quiet, and they knew to order some fish for him if at all possible, so he had something to eat besides the obligatory fried chicken, and no one pestered him to cheer up or live a little. As parties went, it was pretty tolerable, even if he was looking forward to it ending.

Makoto's party was supposed to have ended earlier than Haru's did, but unlike Haru, he always lingered at the end, saying goodbye to everyone and helping to clean up, reunite people with their possessions, and so on, so it was no surprise to Haru when they ended up in the station near Makoto's apartment at the same time. "Lucky timing!" Makoto exclaimed. "Jeez, it's so cold. Haru, are you sure you're okay without a scarf?" 

"I'm sure," he said, just like he always did, but he bought them two cans of hot coffee to put Makoto's mind at ease. That should sustain them for the four blocks or so they'd have to walk. 

"I'm really glad you were willing to do this," Makoto said. "That chocolate cake is _so good._ And of course it was strawberry shortcake at the party..."

"Mm," Haru said. "Same here." He'd barely touched it, knowing there was more cake waiting later in the evening.

"I mean, I don't _hate_ strawberries! It was great last year, when you made that chocolate strawberry cake so Nagisa and I were both happy." 

They'd had a club Christmas party, even though he and Makoto were technically retired. It had been an excuse to get together, more than anything. And to give Makoto a break from his studies. "I could have done that this year," he said. A change of pace.

"Noooo. The chocolate cake is _so_ good! And it's better when you make it than when I did."

That was probably because Haru wasn't a klutz. When Makoto had made the cake for Haru's birthday, he'd flubbed the addition of the second layer. It had come out a little lopsided and part of it had broken off, so he'd spackled the whole thing together with too much frosting. 

But he'd been smiling anxiously when Haru took his first bite, so Haru had just smiled and said "It's good." _That_ was a cake baked with love, clearly. 

"Most things taste better when you don't have to make them," Haru said now, and Makoto laughed.

"I guess that's true. You think so, too? I thought it was just because I'm not a very good cook." They'd stopped at a crosswalk, because Makoto still didn't like to jaywalk in Tokyo; even in a quiet neighborhood like this, he worried that a car was going to come out of nowhere. Haru was used to humoring him. It gave him a chance to drink his coffee.

But Makoto was fidgety, like he wanted to say something. "What's wrong?" Haru had asked, finally.

"I just... um. Haru, are you sure you don't mind doing this?"

If he'd minded, he wouldn't have baked an entire cake the day before. Or tried to ditch his swim team in favor of this. If he'd minded, he wouldn't have spent so long trying and failing to pick out a decent gift. He didn't mind spending Christmas with Makoto at all. More the opposite.

"Why would I mind?" he asked. 

"Well, you know... we're not kids, and it's more of a couple-y holiday, so if you felt weird about spending Christmas Eve with just the two of us... I mean, I don't want to make it weird or anything! I'm just... kinda homesick, I guess? And—"

"The light's green," Haru said, ignoring the way his heart had started beating faster as soon as Makoto had acknowledged it. It was a romantic holiday. They hadn't been _saying_ anything about it, but they both knew. 

But Makoto's family still did a family Christmas, for the twins' sake, and that was probably what Makoto missed. He'd almost said as much. Haru was probably all alone in his ulterior motives. 

"I just wanted to be sure I gave you your present," Makoto finished in a rush, as they stepped off the curb, and Haru ducked his head into the collar of his coat to hide a smile. Ulterior motives or not, he knew where he wanted to be on Christmas. 

 

Makoto had loved the cake — he'd made noises of appreciation that left Haru stealthily readjusting the kotatsu's skirt over his lap, in fact — and he'd been delighted with his present, an old video game from their childhood that Haru had combed secondhand stores to find. 

And there had been a moment or two when they fell silent, when Makoto ran out of funny stories about his friends or fresh appreciation for the cake or childhood memories sparked by the game, when their eyes caught and held each other's and Haru thought one of them was about to say something. But the words would freeze in his throat, and Makoto would find something to say again, and in the end Haru left the apartment with the new scarf Makoto had given him wrapped around his neck, feeling the cold more than he had on the way there. 

If only they were old enough to buy alcohol. Haru had tried drinking once or twice thanks to upperclassmen; a little tipsiness was all it would have taken to get him to climb across the kotatsu and kiss the chocolate frosting away from the corner of Makoto's mouth. 

If he'd just thought of something handmade he could have given. He should have learned how to knit. Makoto clearly loved scarves, and learning to knit entirely to give someone a handmade present was as clear a signal as Haru could imagine sending. Short of the drunken kotatsu-climb, at least.

He'd spent a couple of days after Christmas annoyed at himself for the missed opportunity, but they were flying back to Iwatobi together for New Year's, and as they waited to board the plane, Haru peeled off the scarf. "Yeah, it's a little warm inside, huh," Makoto said. "I wish I was better at knitting."

"Huh?" It was less the non-sequitur that snagged his attention than the echo of his own thoughts.

"Oh, I, um... there's this girl in my class, Morizumi? I think I've mentioned her? She was trying to teach a bunch of us how to knit. I was hoping I'd be good enough to make you a scarf in time for Christmas, but what I had was too short and kind of lumpy, so I just bought you that one instead."

"Maybe by my birthday," Haru said.

"It'll be way too warm for a scarf on your birthday, Haru!"

"It'll keep me warm if I have to go to Australia," he said.

"When are you going to need to go to Australia?" Makoto protested, but it didn't matter. Just learning about it was good enough for Haru. He didn't need to learn to knit himself. 

February would be there in no time.

 

And now that February was here, and he was baking again, every noise from the oven, the pipes, the neighbors, the street outside, or his own phone, had him ready to jump out of his skin. Makoto could be home at any time and Haru was nervous in a way he'd never felt before a competition.

How did a cake baked with nervousness taste? Did it still count as love? While the cakes cooled on the table, he tried running water in the sink and splashing his face. He was tempted to just go soak in Makoto's bath — that would definitely calm him down — but he hadn't worn a swimsuit under his clothes today. They'd seen each other naked hundreds of times, but not when Haru was attempting to confess his feelings by way of cake. That made it a bit different. He'd have to settle for water up to his elbows and on his face. 

He sternly forbade himself from filling the sink with water and dunking his whole head in it. If his hair was still wet when Makoto came home, Makoto would fuss over that instead of caring about the cake.

At least the layers were placed smoothly, but Haru was having second thoughts about decorating. He'd intended to repurpose the spare dolphin and orca phone charms he'd gotten on one of their aquarium visits (he was well aware of how date-like some of these things seemed, he just hadn't been sure if Makoto was) but they looked a bit too much like a wedding cake topper, he feared. And they had little holes on top where he'd removed the metal hook for the strings. 

On the other hand, they were really cute, and he had no other use for them. 

He still hadn't quite decided, though he'd finished frosting the cake, when he finally heard the distinctive sound of a key in the lock and nearly dropped the dolphin into the empty frosting bowl. 

He stepped away from the counter as Makoto — he'd spotted the shoes again — said "Haru?" A moment later, as he recognized the scent of chocolate, he repeated, "Haru," but this time his voice sounded different. Almost like he was about to cry. 

"I," Haru began, but the words stuck in his throat again. Makoto was standing in the entryway; he'd dropped the backpack, but he hadn't taken off his shoes. He didn't look like he'd even started. He was staring at Haru, and he didn't look especially happy, or upset, just... confused. "I," Haru tried again. He swallowed hard. "I baked," he said, finally. 

It seemed to be the right thing to say, even if it wasn't quite what he'd meant. Makoto's whole face transformed like the sun rising; he looked like he was about to step into the living room, then he remembered his shoes, and looked instead like he was about to trip over himself. Either way, Haru rushing over to him seemed necessary.

He hadn't really thought about the fact that grabbing Makoto's elbow to support him put them actually pretty close to each other. Before he could feel awkward about it, though, Makoto had righted himself, and then he threw his arms around Haru, engulfing him in a hug. 

"Happy... Valentine's Day?" Haru managed. 

"Haru!" Makoto sounded like he was close to crying. That wasn't what Haru had wanted. He managed to extract an arm enough to pat Makoto's back in what he hoped was comforting way. 

"Don't cry?" he tried next. "Um." The continuing hug was a good sign, at least. 

"I'm just really happy," Makoto said. "Sorry. I'm not actually crying, just... happy." 

"Really?" He kind of liked this hugging thing. He put his other arm around Makoto too, then buried his face in Makoto's shoulder. He could hold on at least as tight as Makoto was holding him, couldn't he? Tighter than he'd ever allowed himself before.

"Yeah." Makoto's voice was reassuringly happy now. "I was planning to make hot chocolate and invite you over this evening," he added, with a laugh. "I didn't think you'd beat me to it."

Of course I'd beat you to it, Haru thought. I've been plotting something like this ever since we moved here. Ever since you told me you were planning to come here. Ever since ever. 

What he said was "Sorry," which just made Makoto laugh again, and reluctantly loosen the embrace.

"I should take my shoes off," he said. He braced himself against the wall to undo his laces without looking away from Haru. "I'm glad you had the same idea, because I wasn't sure— like, do we give each other chocolates on Valentine's Day, because that's when you give chocolates to the guy you like? Or do we wait for White Day, since that's when men give chocolates?"

"You don't even like white chocolate," Haru said. "So after Christmas didn't work, it seemed obvious." 

"After— you mean you—" Makoto laughed, but he bit it back at the sight of Haru's irritation. "Sorry, Haru. I was just so— at Christmas, I really wanted to tell you, but I was too nervous—"

Haru felt something relax inside himself, far deeper than the tension in his shoulders or the butterflies in his stomach. Of course that was how it had been. Of course. He should have known. 

"Maybe this isn't how I'm supposed to be acting?" Makoto said, stepping into the room. "I'm just so _relieved._ I mean, we knew we loved each other, but... I'm _in_ love with you, and I was afraid you wouldn't..." He trailed off, maybe because he could see something of the way Haru's heart had tripped and lost its rhythm and started racing to catch up with itself. "Haru?"

"I'm... okay," he said. "I'm happy too." But words were hard and scary and embarrassing, and he'd never be as good with them as Makoto was. He'd never be tall enough or big enough to wrap Makoto up in a hug the way Makoto could do to him, either, but he could still wrap himself around Makoto, arms tight around his back, and bury his face in Makoto's shoulder again. 

"Okay," Makoto said softly, arms going around him. "Good." 

This was new. They'd never been the type to hug, even when they were little kids who'd hold hands or sleep in the same bed. Apparently they'd been saving it without knowing it, he thought, drawing in a long breath and breathing in Makoto. "This is almost like being in the water," he said. Calming. And where he belonged.


End file.
